Skywalker Down
by KaminoSaberDart
Summary: On a minor scouting mission, Luke Skywalker is shot down in a dogfight with Black Squadron. His only hope: that the Alliance finds him before Darth Vader does.
1. 1.

_How many crashes am I going to have on my record by the time this war is over?_

Only the Force could be credited for why he had survived this long when so many other pilots--pilots with more experience than him--died around him with chilling regularity.

Luke slowly pulled himself from the wreckage of his X-wing. Sharp pangs burst through his legs as he lifted them over the side of the cockpit--carefully--and lowered himself bit by bit; shocking jolts of his nerves waking up interrupted the stiff, numb sensations that had built up in his limbs as he'd sat cramped and unconscious in the snub fighter. Luke grimaced and let go of the edge of the cockpit; hit the ground and crumpled to his knees before he had time to absorb the impact. He landed on top of what gear he'd been able to salvage and drop out of the fighter. It wasn't much, survival-wise; the mission was supposed to have been quick. Just scouting the planet with the new Rogue Squadron.

Either the Empire had already found a use for the tiny little backwater, or they had gotten a tip about the Alliance's interest in it. They'd been waiting.

Everything ached; especially his shoulders, back, and neck. A headache split his head, and his gums felt as though they'd been filled with needles and not teeth. But it could've been a lot worse. At least Wedge and Tycho had escaped into hyperspace--at Luke's orders. A few of the green pilots hadn't made it. One of the older pilots--almost thirty years old--had been shot down alongside him, but before impact planetside her fighter had broken apart; the damage to her X-wing had been too much to allow for atmospheric re-entry. As far as Luke could determine, he was the only Rebel on-planet; possibly the only sapient life at all, if the Empire had no use for it beyond a

a place to stage an ambush.

The emergency beacon in his fighter was damaged. But the Rebellion didn't leave pilots down. Their philosophy prohibited the abandonment of fellow members of the Rebel Alliance, but there was also a more practical reason, a simple, rational one: strategically, they couldn't afford to lose anybody at this stage of the war, especially not a relatively experienced X-wing pilot. The Alliance didn't have a virtually limitless supply of bodies and resources as the Empire did. And, though it was unfair to place him above the rest, Luke understood they wouldn't want to lose their "hero" who had blown up the Death Star "singlehandedly." Even though a lot of guys had been there getting him to that point, most of them dying in the process. But keeping Luke alive was a propaganda strategy, and good for morale.

Wedge and Tycho would report to the princess what had happened, and sooner or later a rescue team would be sent to look for him--if only to confirm to themselves that the Hero of Yavin was dead. Presumably, they'd be looking for poor Shan as well; he'd been the only one close enough to see her X-Wing disintegrate in the atmosphere.

At least the Rogues had managed to kill a few TIEs in the scuffle--particularly impressive, considering they'd been up against Black Squadron.

The TIE Advanced, coming seemingly out of nowhere, had really been the one to decimate them, though. Within seconds it had eliminated multiple members of Rogue Squadron, then set its sights solely on Luke, peppering him with fire relentlessly; staying on him as if its navigational computer was slavishly linked to his.

The TIE Advanced was still technically a prototype, and there weren't many testers. Darth Vader was the only one to use the model as a matter of course. And, though he usually didn't fly with Black Squadron, he still technically was Black Leader and took control from his second when he wished.

But Luke had known it was him before he'd even seen the Advanced. Vader's oppressive, cold presence in the Force--similar to the sensation of being immersed in frigid dark water--had been recognizable on its own. It was the same cold feeling he'd had in the Death Star trench when he'd been the last one left and Vader and his guard had been bearing down on him.

_He must have known it was me_. That prompted a new wave of cold prickling over his skin. Luke didn't know much about the Force. But if he could sense someone as adept as Darth Vader, then Vader must have detected his presence.

Artoo beeped down at him sharply from his place behind the cockpit of the X-wing.

"Right," Luke said. He girded himself and stood up, shakily. "I'll get you out."

They didn't have time for reflecting. Sunset was coming soon and they had to prepare camp as quickly as possible.

After helping Artoo down, Luke examined his surroundings, though still too dazed to stand for long. He saw a lot of trees, a few gis snub had felled before it slid into a clearing. It was only sparsely overgrown with short some grass and withered-looking shrubs, but the snub was almost to the tree line. He'd seen the dark green forest on his way down, but couldn't remember any bodies of water.

Luke went through his survival pack. It contained only one canteen of water, and even using it sparingly he had a day or two at most. There were enough rations for a few meals. If necessary, though, he could use the land. His home planet Tatooine was harsher than most habitable worlds. As long as no Imperials showed up, he could make it until the Alliance found him. Hopefully, the trees hid some stream or river from him.

When he felt ready, he went to the closest large tree and cut down several leafy branches with his lightsaber, then dragged them to his fighter to camouflage it.

Black Squadron had taken some hits, and he was almost positive that he'd at least grazed Vader's TIE before he'd been shot down. But they'd regroup and soon search the planet for him and Shan, if they hadn't already. Darth Vader was especially driven. And his experience with, and connection to, the Force was decades ahead of Luke's own. The Force almost seemed to guide Vader in his search. Or maybe Vader was just that good; just that determined.

_You did blow up the Death Star._ _Can't blame him for taking it personally, can you? They say he was the one to answer to the Emperor._ No one else had been left to take the blame.

Hopefully Shan had left some debris to distract them and lead them away from him. It was gruesome to think about, but the wreckage of her X-wing might give him some extra time.

Luke slung his pack over his shoulders. The canteen hung from his belt and he ate his only ration bar as he walked toward the main treeline. Artoo rolled along behind him, a little rocky on the terrain but managing well enough.

_Show me where to go_, Luke implored of the Force. Then he entered the forest.

* * *

TBC.


	2. 2

_Author's note. _

Because of the scant information regarding the new canon's Black Squadron, I've used the old canon's Back Squadron pilots as needed to fill things in and make them more personable. This fic supposes Black Squadron's numbers were replaced after the events of the Battle of Yavin. Wookieepedia was my resource for this fic.

* * *

The new Black Squadron roster was, like the old, composed of the best pilots in the Imperial Navy. Darth Vader always selected each pilot himself.

He'd had to start over completely after Yavin. Only two pilots had survived the attack on the Death Star, himself and Iden Versio; both of their TIEs had been spun off in opposite directions, and Vader had only later learned of her survival. Now Versio had been recently reassigned to the new Inferno Squad. It was regrettable to lose his third but a new Special Forces team was necessary now that the Alliance was gaining influence and support across the galaxy.

But after personally reviewing the candidates from a pool of Montross' top pilots, he had finally selected eleven of them to reform Black Squadron. That number was down to eight after their dogfight with the small the Rebellion had sent. It was regrettable to lose them in the span of a few minutes, but Black Squadron wasn't his only tool. A Destroyer lurked just beyond the curvature of the planet. If he needed more TIEs it would send them. He had enough pilots in reserve there, and other troops as well. For now, he had the remainder of his squadron to pursue Skywalker.

Luke was strong in the Force, and would only get stronger as he matured. A crash-landing planetside wouldn't kill him. Vader would have felt his death, anyway. It would have been unmistakable.

_You've passed another test, my son_, he thought. He barely restrained the urge to reach out through the Dark Side and address Luke personally. If Luke really was his son--and the Force confirmed that he was--then he might be able to "hear" Vader's thoughts even as separated as they were. But it wasn't the right time to reach out to Luke. And when he did, he wanted it to be direct and personal.

"We're going into the atmosphere of the planet," Vader said over the squadron's frequency as he adjusted his controls. "Search patrol formations. Ten and Eleven are with me."

"Copy."

"Copy, Lord Vader."

"Remember," Vader addressed the group, "do not fire on any survivors until Skywalker is in custody."

"Very well, Black Leader." That was from Black Two. There was a slightly grudging tone in his voice that made it through the comm unit's transmission. Vader ignored it. No doubt Black Two, a good pilot but somewhat emotional under the surface, was already entertaining thoughts of retaliation for the loss of Four and Nine. But the mission came first. Foolhardy heroism and recklessness were Rebel traits. The Imperial Navy--especially those under his direct command--operated professionally.

Their first course of action would be to scan the planet for Skywalker. After that, making sure he was apprehended without too much damage was a top priority. It shouldn't be too difficult a task; they had only so large an area within the Northern and Eastern hemispheres to cover and Luke, filled with dormant power though he was, still was just a first-year pilot, not trained at the Academy, and definitely not trained even in the rudimentary tenants of the Force. Luke wouldn't be able to evade the best squadron in the Navy, and certainly not the Dark Side--certainly not a Lord of the Sith.

As soon as Luke was captured and safely restrained, Black Two could terminate any remaining Rebels--assuming there were any. He'd been so focused on Luke during the skirmish he wasn't even certain.

But if there were any more survivors, leaving them for his men to deal with would allow them to appease some of their righteous anger, especially his second. He had to give them things like that sometimes, to keep them at their best.

…

Luke still hadn't found a place to refill his canteen, but the greenery suggested that water was plentiful on-planet. Either he'd run into something at some point or rain would fall eventually.

Artoo blipped and chittered uncertainly as they trekked through the green, leafy undergrowth. His treads could handle the uneven terrain well enough, but occasionally Luke had to help him navigate over some difficult root or depression in the ground.

When necessary, he cut the droid a path with his lightsaber. Though the canopy provided by the trees gave enough cover, he tried to avoid igniting his saber for very long and kept it on only long enough to help Artoo along.

The chatter of alien life--squawks and buzzes and chirps--kept things from getting too quiet, but his thoughts about losing Shan, and possibly being hunted, and just the lack of conversation in general, finally prompted Luke to say, "Want to hear something kind of crazy, Artoo?"

Artoo gave the affirmative.

Luke stopped walking, stood still for a few seconds; considered if he really wanted to say what he was thinking. Artoo was a droid, but a very perceptive one. Talking to him wasn't like talking to most astromechs. Artoo would listen. He wouldn't divulge any secret Luke told him, but he wouldn't forget either. And he thought about whatever he was told.

Luke gestured upwards. "When we fell through the atmosphere, Shan went down, too. I can't explain it, but I knew she was going to--to die. Just a fraction of a second before it happened. Then she did. I felt it happen."

Artoo bleated. _What about her astromech?_ he wanted to know.

"I can't sense droids. But I felt her. For a second, it was almost like, like I--" He broke off. Wasn't sure if he should say it--if it was appropriate. "Anyway, then she was gone and I couldn't feel her anymore."

Artoo murmured.

"Ben--Obi-wan--had sensed the destruction of Alderaan, even before he knew what had happened." Luke hadn't sensed anything back then. Lately, though, the ability had slowly developed. It was like seeing or hearing or touching, except he'd gone his life without even knowing he had it. Over the last almost-year, it had gotten more acute.

He'd had bad or weird feelings since childhood, but hadn't known what it meant then. And it had always been vague and fleeting.

"Sometimes," Luke continued, "I can feel the...other side...too. I'll fire on a TIE or at a trooper and I'll feel something. It's similar to what happened with Shan. Like something dropping in my stomach, in the pit of my stomach. Sometimes it's cold like ice. Then I know what happened to them."

Artoo whistled at a lower frequency. It sounded empathetic, but who knew if Artoo really got what he was saying. A fellow sapient organic probably wouldn't relate, either. Unless there were more hidden Jedi, he might be totally alone with the experience.

They walked a little further for a while. Finally Luke said, stopping again, "It's been harder to shoot lately. I wish Ben could explain it all to me. Maybe tell me how to block it. I'm trying to do it on my own right now."

He didn't tell Artoo his other fear: that if he did figure out how to desensitize himself, he'd become some kind of monster. Maybe that was how a Jedi was "seduced by the Dark Side of the Force," as Ben had put it on Tatooine.

A while back, Luke had returned to Tatooine, to visit Ben's old hut and look for something--texts, a data archive, anything--about the Force and the Jedi. He hadn't found much, except an old fashioned journal. It wasn't much of a study guide; mostly just a collection of Ben's thoughts and experiences while camped out on Tatooine. The journal mentioned the Force but in a way that the writer had taken for granted, as he had already understood its properties and the philosophy behind it all. Yet for some reason, Old Ben had hidden it for him with the note "For Luke." Somehow Ben had known Luke would return to look for answers, or maybe assumed he'd return with Luke to present him with the book personally. Maybe he would have explained the stories written down. But Ben had died on the Death Star and Luke had to interpret everything on his own.

"I don't know, " Luke said finally. "Maybe I'm just going cra--"

It was faint, but the shriek of a fighter broke through the chatter of the forest. Luke bristled and flattened himself against a nearby tree. Artoo rolled speedily after him.

The screech of ion engines increased, almost to a deafening volume. Even though the leaves' canopy shielded him, Luke couldn't help but hunch down all the same--and grab the lightsaber on his belt, squeezing the hilt, as if it could help should they decide to open fire.

Then the roaring engines moved on. Artoo moaned softly as the sound faded overhead. Luke expelled a breath he hadn't been consciously holding in.

"Think it's safe?" Luke murmured to Artoo.

Artoo communicated that the TIEs were flying out of range of his scanners.

"Then we're about to be out of range of theirs."

The droid squawked. Questioned his ability to keep moving.

"I'm fine. Shaky, kind of want to vomit, but I'm fine." Luke rubbed his shoulder joint and suppressed a grimace. He suspected that in his old age--if he lived long enough to get old--his body would be riddled with aching joints, not to mention at least a few scars. If he got lucky, that would be the worst of it.

Artoo recommended he use the bacta in his survival pack.

"Can't use anymore." He only had two patches left now. No bacta spray. And he didn't know what else he might encounter before a rescue team got here.

_Assuming they get past the Imperials. Who'll be ready for any new "Rebels" that might try to sneak through._

He wanted to sit down under the tree and fall asleep. Sleep for hours, through the rest of the day and into the night. Just the walk, and hiding from the searchers, had been enough to exhaust him completely.

His flight suit was damp with sweat. He stripped it down to his middle and tied it around his waist. Beneath the suit, he wore just a thin, almost threadbare undershirt. It had been white once, but nearly a year of rotating it between only a few others, with occasional washes as the Alliance could provide, had discolored it to a faint gray. He had nothing else.

Artoo beeped inquisitively.

"Just overheated," Luke said. "Although I've got chills, too." Cold sweat was not a good sign. Thank goodness Threepio wasn't here to fret over his condition.

Luke promised himself that when the sun went down, he and Artoo could stop and rest, no matter what.

Black Eleven was fairly confident their missing pilots were dead. But she was also confident that Lord Vader would not allow them to leave until he was satisfied with the results of their search. So she was on the lookout for wreckage, smoke, and disturbed earth or trees.

Visuals were the main thing right now. Scans wouldn't be much good if the pilots were dead, and on the off-chance they were alive, it was too hard to pinpoint anyone amidst the dense population of fauna. Picking up any major functioning tech was also uncertain if their ships were fried.

She still didn't know why Lord Vader's mystery pilot was a top priority. He didn't say--he often didn't explain things--but as she and the others figured, there were only a few reasons for him to give special attention to this Skywalker. Otherwise, any survivor would do if the plan was just interrogation and execution.

Rumors about Lord Vader's obsession with Skywalker implied that he'd been one of the pilots to escape the attack Death Star alive. Only a few Rebel ships had gotten away in total, two X-wings and a freighter. Skywalker was as good a guess as anyone else.

Then again, sometimes Lord Vader just "knew" things. He didn't need to receive intel or see something to know it happened or would happen. And he could sort of divine knowledge about people, too. Maybe he had just received some personal, special insight about Skywalker. She hoped not. Superstition wasn't her thing. But she had to follow his direction either way.

"I see something," Ten's voice broke over the comm. "Crashed fighter remains. My port side."

"I'll check myself, " Lord Vader said. "Stay behind me."

They maneuvered to stay behind his Advanced. And after the next pass, he said, "That is one of the X-wings. Follow me into a landing. We'll approach the fighter on foot. Set your weapons to stun."

They copied.

Because the wreckage was scattered over uneven ground, between some groves of trees, they had to land on more flat earth nearly half a kilometer away.

Ten and Eleven had their E-11s out when they hit the ground, while Darth Vader dismounted unarmed. His lightsaber hung from his belt, though; the armor-weave cloak he usually wore was discarded during flight, so she could see the lightsaber hilt clearly, hanging against the long cloth tabard he wore over his suit.

As they neared the X-wing, or rather its pieces, Lord Vader brushed past them bodily to peer into the overturned cockpit, one gauntleted hand on the smoked and cracked viewport.

"Not alive," he said after a moment. He pulled back and indicated the cockpit. "Drag the body out."

Despite the assertion that there wasn't a survivor inside, Eleven and Ten held their blaster rifles one-handed as they pushed on the cockpit, kicked, and eventually got it open. They drug out the body.

Ten took the helmet off. The pilot was female, and her face had been protected to some degree by her visor. But she was definitely dead.

"Not Skywalker, then," Eleven muttered.

"No," Lord Vader said. "I sense that it's unlikely any other pilots were shot down. The one we find next will be Skywalker."

Despite her own doubts about his obscure religion, Eleven couldn't ignore the frisson of coldness that jolted down between her shoulder blades. Lord Vader spoke without any doubt. He was also rarely wrong when he made his predictions.

She couldn't articulate why, but this time it gave her chills.

TBC


	3. 3

A little before sundown Luke located a small stream, shallow but clear. He refilled his canteen, then cleaned his hands and face from the grime and blood they'd accumulated since the crash. Somehow just the feel of the cold water rinsing his skin was rejuvenating. He sat under a nearby tree, large with protruding roots that would make decent shelter for the night. It was almost comfortable. And the air, interrupted only by the low hum of insects, was peaceful; odd, given his circumstances. Artoo stood a way off, monitoring.

There was something almost comforting about not having any real control of the situation. All he had to do was stay out of the Imperials' hands. Fighting off an elite squadron, or even just Darth Vader, wasn't going to be an option.

His hand fell back to his lightsaber and unhooked it from his belt. Still, if he was forced to fight, he would. Maybe he didn't have the expert skill to engage in a proper lightsaber duel, but he had gotten better at deflecting blaster-fire with his lightsaber; practicing in his off-hours with Han's training droid had paid off in the last several months, even if he had been left without Ben's help after Yavin. And in some previous scrapes, he had even managed to deflect a few bolts of laser fire back to the shooters. He might not be able to take on a squad by himself but he could definitely buy enough time to get away.

Artoo twittered in alarm and Luke sat bolt upright. Even as he reacted he could hear the roaring TIE engines fading in. Luke rolled under the small cavern of roots and dirt a quarter-second later, hastily withdrawing as deep into the damp recesses under the tree. Artoo followed after him but there was no way his design would follow him to negotiate his way underground beside Luke. Briefly, Luke imagined flipping Artoo onto his side and then dragging him down into the shelter, but the TIEs had already screeched by overhead. The engines faded just as quickly as they passed.

Luke remained frozen in place, half listening for the sound of the engines again, and half still recovering from their sudden emergence. There was no way to tell if they were the same fighters from earlier or not, but it didn't really matter.

Heart thudding, huddled in the little cavern of gnarled roots and damp, mossy earth, he didn't feel relief at surviving another close call. He just felt depleted, and cold. It wasn't the subtle cold of the Dark Side that had tempted him on occasion. It was the chilling flush of adrenaline. He recognized it from many near-misses and stupid stunts in the past--both as a member of the Alliance and as a reckless kid pulling dangerous stunts on Tatooine. It was a sensation of lightness, as if he had detached slightly from his body. His skin was coated afresh in a cool layer of sweat.

Luke didn't know why it was hitting him now. But he lay in hiding for several moments. The thick scent of the moist earth helped him focus a little.

_Don't lose your nerve now_, he told himself. It would take only one moment's panic to slip up. Whatever weird psychological effect was going on, he'd have to wait till he was safely back with the Alliance to figure it out.

* * *

"Yep," Black Five said as he patted the scorched and crumpled shell of the starfighter. "It's Skywalker's X-wing, all right."

Black Five and Black Six had so far been the pairing with the most luck in their search. At least, Five would have called their success luck. Black Leader would say that their good fortune was actually the will of the Force. Five thought of the Force as just another interpretation for luck, but he made sure to never voice that opinion.

"Glad we got a visual just before dark," Six said.

"We" was a generous way of putting it. Five had totally missed the downed fighter; Six had spotted it. Something about the way the brush had been laying had looked wrong to him. They'd made another pass, then landed. Neither dared to call it in to Black Leader until they were on site and sure, though. Skywalker made their boss act more--_intense_ than was usual. There wasn't any point in riling him up without reason.

But now they had confirmation. With another pilot's fighter already discovered, and the Death Star painted on the side of this one, it had to be Luke Skywalker's.

Six activated the comm unit in his helmet and switched to the group frequency. "Black Six to Black Leader," he said, with a professional lack of excitement.

Both of them waited. Then their comms crackled with that familiar initial rush of modulated breathing. Sometimes it still made Five nervous, if he focused on it too much. It drew a person in almost hypnotically.

Black Leader's voice filled the space of their helmets like a presence all its own. "Tell me that you have good news for me, Black Six," he said. Six didn't flinch at the implied threat left open.

"We do, my lord. Five and me have just located Skywalker's X-wing. There's no astromech unit inside but there are some treads that follow some footprints into the trees. Looks like we found his trail."

"Excellent," Black Leader breathed into the comm. "Send me your coordinates. We'll estimate Skywalker's zone of travel and converge around him. Search his fighter thoroughly for anything that may be of importance. I will be there shortly."

"Yes, my lord. We'll tear the X-wing apart. If there's anything valuable left behind we'll find it."

After a few more directions, to them and the Squadron as a unit, Black Leader signed off.

"Okay," Six said. "Let's tear this piece of junk apart."

"With pleasure."

They started on the cockpit. With the spare tools in their TIEs, it was easy to remove the broken and cracked cockpit canopy and let it fall to the ground with a dull crunch. Five leaned in and ducked his upper half into the narrow cockpit. He tapped at the ship computer; on the off chance it was left still functional, he might be able to recover the ship's log. Six looked over the damage done to the fighter's bulkheads, in a crouch near the S-foils.

"Oh, by the way," Five said, turning to look at him, "thanks for mentioning me."

"What?" Black Six looked up from his inspection and managed to convey confusion with just one micro tilt of his helmet. "What do you mean?"

"For saying that we found the X-wing," Five said. "You were the one who spotted it and pointed it out. I'd already flown past it."

"We're paired together." Six shrugged and returned his attention to the fighter. "It's a team effort."

"Well, I'm just saying you didn't have to. You'd have been right to say you found it and not mention me."

"Oh, come on," Six said. "This isn't like the petty stuff at the academy we used to have to put up with on Montross. We're in Black Squadron. We're one unit and that's it."

"All right, all right. But if I'm the one who gets to stun Skywalker, I'll share the credit with you."

Six shook his head exasperatedly, though the action seemed slightly hyperbolic. "Okay, pilot. Let's not get mushy. This is the biggest mission of our careers and it's not over yet."

"Right, right."

The computer was fried. It had been a long shot to expect Skywalker to leave it operable. But he'd had to check. Five turned his attention to the pilot's seat. While reaching into the crevices between cushion and ship, his fingers hit something stiff but pliant.

"Now what do we have here--" He forced his fingers closed around it despite the narrow space--the object was about ten millimeters thick.

"Find something?" Six said. "Secret plans, maybe?"

"Some case or book, I think." Five pulled it out, scraping his knuckles slightly even with his thick gloves. He held it up. It was an old-fashioned journal--pages crinkled at the edges, the leather cover and wrinkled. It looked more like some antique artifact than some Rebel pilot's personal effects.

"No way," Six said. He cursed mildly. "Don't tell me those actually are secret plans."

Five looked over the cover. In Aurabesh someone had carefully stenciled "The Journal of Ben Kenobi." He read it out loud to Six.

"Who's Ben Kenobi?"

"Don't know," Five said, as he opened the journal to examine the writing. "Black Leader is the one obsessed with Skywalker. Maybe it'll mean something to him."

* * *

TBC


End file.
